Leaving with Style

Ah, the vicissitudes of a freelance translator’s life... Who on Earth would ever think that, at the respectable age of 44, I would be sitting at a live Luzhniki Stadium concert of the aging pop diva, Madonna?

And yet, this is where my job took me on a warm night in September, to help a CEO with potential networking during concert breaks. Both of my kids envied my less-than-enviable task, prompting me to retort to my son: “Polish your English, man, and you will be in my shoes.”

On that day, however, I found myself wishing I didn’t speak the language of Shakespeare fluently enough to be a “post horse of civilization,” as Pushkin called us translators. Because Madonna’s concert in Moscow had little to do with civilization. It was more like a rendez-vous for New Russian parvenus. Even before entering the stadium, you could smell money in the air. Walking past the wall of Novodevichy Monastery, where cars were parked, I began clicking off the number of $100,000+ “tachki” and shortly gave up. The number of BMWs and Audi coupes exceeded all reasonable expectations. Lexuses and locally-produced Ford Focuses were parked on sidewalks as if they were merely Zhigulis, while hordes of high society Madonna fans hugged and kissed each other, declaiming: “So it took Madonna for us to see each other again!” I cringed. B-r-rr. What a pretentious platitude. 

Holding on to my ticket (face value: an appalling R25,000 – almost $1,000) I climbed the stadium stairs. Initially, the organizers expected Madonna to perform on September 11, in front of the Moscow State University building on Sparrow Hills. (Yet, for some reason the location was written as Воробевы горы – without the required soft sign to separate the б from the e. I concluded that the tickets were imported by Madonna’s team and printed in the States by illiterate Russian expats. But then, local illiteracy is on the march as well.) Then authorities in the Russian Orthodox Church raised a voice of protest against Madonna’s song in which she poses as Jesus on the cross, saying it was a blasphemy and an insult to all believers. I thought a concert by Madonna on September 11 was an insult to the memories of the victims of 9/11. In any case, the concert was put off to a more face-saving date and place: September 12 at Luzhniki stadium.

It was 7 pm, and the warm-up by a Russian DJ didn’t stir me – in fact I felt kind of cold. My client was not doing any networking, so I went to the cafeteria and poured myself a huge hot tea in a disposable paper cup on which was printed “Ice tea.” The day was filled with such incongruities. 

I returned to my cold plastic seat and looked around. It was now 8:30. The DJ thing was over and Madonna was nowhere to be seen. The zepellin flying overhead didn’t really fire up the crowd. To me it was a reminder of the heart-breaking Mishka, the 1980s Moscow Olympics mascot who flew away toward the end of the closing ceremonies, to the tears of a packed stadium. Then a strident whistle woke me from my reminiscences. I turned around and spotted NHL star Pavel Bure, whistling through two fingers in his mouth to protest the wait. Soon he was joined by other high profile guests, including  TV anchor Andrei Karaulov and retired pop star Alena Apina. 

The “dancing parquet”  (as they call the section next to the stage) was more or less packed, but the stands were not, only some 50 percent of the seats were filled. Perhaps having Madonna perform in such an empty venue was a bit neudobno (uncomfortable) for organizers, so they decided to wait until darkness covered the naked seats. 

At 9:30 the venue was blessed by Madonna’s appearance and the concert began. The first half hour was a test to one’s patience, as Madonna treated us to a series of songs accompanied by a slide show on ecological dangers and the famine in Africa. The challenges we face in the 21st century are indeed daunting, but coming from the wet, lipsticky mouth of Madonna, the pleas sounded less than genuine. And, yes, she soon did that cross thing on stage, which was horrendous. Only when she attacked her older pop songs (gyrating in typical Madonna fashion, i.e. like a stripper), she did strike a cord. At least it was a known quantity (a sexually obsessed singer with a “slight” touch of vulgarity), and not a born-again peacenik.

Suddenly my client’s voice woke me from my semi-philosophical thoughts. “You don’t have to feel obligated,” he said. “If you don’t like the concert, you can go anytime.” I sure could, but comme il faut, 40-something linguists need to pick the right moment to depart. That set me thinking of a boring movie session that Joseph Stalin quit in style. The film, A Train has Stopped, was based on a banal scenario, whereby the only action involved was the actual de-training of passengers at each stop. “Which stop is it now?” Stalin asked his retinue in the middle of the film. “It is Balagoye, Comrade Stalin,” came the reply. “Well, I guess that’s the stop I am getting off at,” Stalin said, and left the hall.

“Which song is she singing?” I asked my client as Madonna belted out something vaguely familiar but completely out of character. “It’s Give Peace a Chance,” came the reply. Madonna singing John Lennon? Give me a break!

“I guess I am gonna hit the road now,” I announced to my neighbors, and left Luzhniki fully satisfied with my style of departure.